


I Bet My Life On You

by orphan_account



Series: One-shots [15]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Protective!Mickey, Waiter!Mickey, first meeting fic, restaurant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 21:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11366427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ian's on a date with an older man, and Mickey is his waiter - simple as that





	I Bet My Life On You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guyyys! Still super busy and can't update fics, but inspiration struck for this so here ya go! I was going to post this yesterday but I got distracted by ShamelessQuestions posting something new!! How excited are we?
> 
> Say hi on tumblr: cantfuckinbelievethis

‘Two more hours,’ Mickey muttered to himself as he collected his order and headed to the table.   
  
    Announcing the dishes, he placed them in front of their respective customers before heading back over to the kitchen. He was about to grab the orders that were up when Guy, the new waiter and part-time musician at the restaurant, grabbed his arm. Mickey yanked his arm away and scowled at him. They got along relatively well, but that didn’t mean the dude could grab Mickey whenever he wanted.   
  
    ‘The fuck you want?’ Mickey snapped, keeping his voice low to not attract attention.   
  
    This was the best paid job he’d ever had, mainly because it was such a fancy place and he managed to somehow make head waiter, despite the management’s initial distaste towards him. He didn’t want to lose it because of some fucking sensitive ears listening in on them.   
  
    ‘You gotta swap tables with me,’ Guy whispered, an urgent look on his face.   
  
    He seemed antsy and kept looking back at the sea of customers, which even managed to gain Mickey’s interest. Mickey shot a look over at the table he seemed focussed on and noticed an older guy sitting with a pretty hot redhead. The older guy wasn’t _hideous_ , but it was clear that Red was miles out of his league. Mickey almost immediately agreed just to get a better look at him, but he was curious as to why Guy didn’t want the table, and he also liked keeping the staff on their toes. Didn’t want to become known as the guy who did fucking _favours_.   
  
    ‘The old guy with the redhead,’ Guy clarified, not knowing Mickey had already figured it out. ‘He’s my ex-stepfather. Dude left my mom in the fuckin’ lurch, taking half of her money and telling her he was gay the entire time. He was just after her money and he had been skimming from us the entire time, but we could never prove it. Hence we now live in the apartment building we do now — the shit hole.’   
  
    Mickey scowled. ‘I live in that fuckin’ apartment building.’   
  
    Guy nodded seriously. ‘I know. Anyway, I’m afraid that if I face him, I may smash a plate over his head.’   
  
    Mickey sniffed, nodding. ‘Alright, I got this. _Just this once_.’   
  
    Guy thanked him profusely before they exchanged what they needed to know about their tables. As he headed over to Red and Father Time’s table, he found himself being kind of grateful he got to swap with Guy. Not only did he get a better look at Firecrotch, he got to shake off the woman trying to hit on him all night. He glanced behind him to see Guy smiling as she squeezed his bicep. It was fake, but as he eyed Jen — one of the line cooks who was currently dating him — he knew Guy was in trouble. Jen’s eye twitched as she adjusted the pan, flames bursting up from the pan, giving her a _hell hath no fury_ look. Yeah, Guy was toast.   
  
    Mickey approached the table, hands clasped behind his back as he came to a stop. ‘Good evening, I’m Mickey and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear the specials?’   
  
    ‘No need,’ Father Time said dismissively. ‘I’ll have the Moroccan quail with rose-petal sauce and cucumber relish.’   
  
    Mickey nodded, immediately recording it in his mind. ‘Very good, sir. And for the gentleman?’ He turned to Red to see him smiling up at him a little dopily.   
  
    ‘Don’t you need to write that down?’ Father Time grumped, finally deigning to look up at Mickey. ‘I’ve heard meth can affect your memory, and I really would rather you get my order right.’   
  
    ‘Bill!’ Red hissed, cheeks going red with either embarrassment or rage. ‘Don’t be _rude_.’   
  
    ‘You should know, Ian,’ _Bill_ insisted. ‘Southside mothers don’t stop using during pregnancy. Doesn’t matter if the man himself doesn’t use it.’   
  
    Mickey blinked, clenching his fist behind his back — which was the main reason he usually kept it there. ‘I assure you it will not be a problem, sir.’   
  
     _Ian_ , who seemed desperate to just have this be over, quickly said, ‘I’ll just have the, uh, seafood platter.’   
  
    Bill scoffed. ‘I bring you all the way here and you just get the seafood platter? Nonsense.’ Bill turned to Mickey, giving him a random and disturbing wink. ‘He’ll have the Macadamia crusted lamb with chilli and macadamia sambal.’   
  
    Mickey blinked again, surprised at the nerve of this dude. First he disrespects Mickey, his mother, and pretty much anyone who lived under the poverty line, and then he orders for his date and not even in a nice way. Not that there was really a nice way to take over someone else’s choices.   
  
    He glanced at Ian to see him staring down at his plate, cheeks red and face scrunched up in a scowl. With an inaudible sigh, Mickey nodded and headed over to the kitchen to place the order. Guy is already there, clearly waiting for his dishes to be served up for a moment.   
  
    ‘Seafood platter,’ Mickey ordered, adding, ‘Oh, and Moroccan quail. Do me a favour and spit in it for me, will ya?’   
  
    Jen, who now seemed over the previous jealousy over the flirtation with Guy, smirked before putting in the order.   
  
    ‘So you got along famously with Bill, then, I imagine?’ Guy stated airily, seeming to have a _told-you-so_ look despite Mickey never arguing with him.   
  
    ‘Oh, he’s just a bucket of laughs,’ Mickey sneered. ‘I might shiv him in the parking lot, or at least stab his tyres. I won’t tell if you won’t?’   
  
    ‘You know what you should do?’ Jen interjected as she handed Guy his plates and he headed off. She nodded at the table, staring at Ian as he gazed at Mickey. ‘Fuck sugar baby over there — really stick it to him.’   
  
    ‘You talkin’ about Red or Father Time when you say stick it to him?’ Mickey joked before heading off to another table. 

* * *

 

  
‘When you take on a business venture such as mine, it is a risk,’ Bill continued his boring ass story about how he bought the club Ian worked at.   
  
    Ian really only acted somewhat interested because he wanted that promotion to the main entertainer. He knew he deserved it, but it was just a matter of schmoozing to the new higher-ups to try and get there. He didn’t fuck them for it anymore, because they had somehow gotten grosser and also because his skill really spoke for itself. They didn’t need the actual fucking — they just needed some kind of fantasy to go home with. Ian was happy to be that if it meant he benefitted from it. If it wasn’t him, it would be another dancer.   
  
    He pretended to care about what Bill was going on about, but instead he was thinking about that waiter. He was fucking gorgeous with full lips and the bluest eyes in the world, and he honestly couldn’t get his ass as he walked away out of his mind. It was really helping entertain him while Bill talked himself out.   
  
    Fucking Bill really embarrassed him throughout ordering, and really offended him as well. If he still had a chance of being promoted if he stormed off right now, he would, but he really wanted this promotion. His family didn’t get it, but he was actually proud of his hard work. There was nothing wrong with stripping and if they knew the effort he put into it, maybe they would understand. He worked to keep his body looking good, he worked on the choreography of each dance by himself, and once he had even researched for weeks how to make his own outfit that he wanted to wear for a theme night. After his diagnosis, it was really something to throw himself into, but then it became something more.   
  
    It took a while, since the kitchen was backed up, which Bill bitched about endlessly, but finally their meals came out. Ian smiled up at the waiter — Mickey, from memory — as he approached with two dishes covered by lids. God, he was cute.   
  
    Mickey met his eyes and seemed to smirk a little, thrilling Ian, before placing the dishes down and announcing, ‘Moroccan quail with rose-petal sauce and cucumber relish…’ He took the cover off Bill’s and moved onto Ian’s, looking him directly in the eyes as he removed the cover. ‘And the seafood platter. Enjoy.’   
  
     Ian couldn’t help but let out a grin at Mickey, both men distracted by each other while Bill slowly turned the colour purple. They both jumped as Bill smacked the table with his fist. Ian noticed Mickey’s hand clench and he frowned, seeing some dark smudges against his knuckles.   
  
    ‘I told you to give him the lamb!’ Bill shouted. ‘Are you a moron? No wonder you work here, you uneducated piece of trash! You find me the right meal right now or I will sue this entire restaurant and yourself for gross negligence.’   
  
    Ian frowned, not entirely sure that Bill knew what you could sue people for, but decided to interject. ‘Bill, it’s fine! This is what I wanted, anyway.’   
  
    ‘This is _not_ what you want, and you don’t tell me what you want — I tell you what you want,’ Bill snapped, before adding under his breath. ‘If you want that promotion.’   
  
    Ian flushed bright red in embarrassment and rage. He couldn’t believe Bill had the nerve to talk to him like that. He was about to shout back when a woman, who appeared to be head chef, stepped up. Her quiet severity silenced everyone and brought all attention to her.   
  
    ‘Do we have problem?’ the woman asked in a thick Russian accent.   
  
    ‘I’ll tell you what problem we have, Francesca,’ Bill snorted. ‘Your _incompetent_ staff brought me the wrong meal.’   
  
    ‘Orange Boy,’ the woman addressed Ian, looking at him with hard eyes. ‘You want seafood platter?’   
  
    Ian nodded slowly, glancing between them all in confusion. He didn’t want Mickey to get in trouble, but he also didn’t want to get in more trouble with Bill. Still, he refused to lie for him.   
  
    ‘Good,’ she said bluntly. ‘Mickey, you go home and come back when you can follow rules.’   
  
    ‘Svet—’ Mickey began, but the woman — Svet, Ian assumes — interrupted.   
  
    ‘Home. Now.’   
  
    Mickey clenched his jaw and made eye contact with Ian before looking away and heading to the back. Ian’s eyes followed him, barely listening as Svet apologised half-heartedly to Bill and he continued to complain.   
  
    ‘Actually, how about we just take the cheque, Bill?’ Ian suggested.   
  
    ‘Ah, yes…Get to the _main event_ ,’ Bill agreed suggestively.   
  
    Svet scrunched her face up before heading off, probably to get another waiter to get their cheque.   
  
    Ian also grimaced slightly before agreeing, ‘Sure. Just let me freshen up first or whatever.’   
  


* * *

 

  
Ian pretty much slammed the door open to the bathroom, letting out a heavy sigh as he leant against the door with his eyes closed. He tried to get the rage curling in his chest to settle down, but he was struggling to gain control.   
  
    ‘Rough night, Red?’ a voice asked teasingly.   
  
    Ian’s eyes snapped open and met a familiar, striking blue. ‘Mickey! I mean…I think…you are Mickey, right?’   
  
    Mickey snorted out a laugh, splashing some cold water on his face. He was in his street clothes now and God, did he look good. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’   
  
    ‘Well, I work at a club and my name is Curtis there, so…’ Ian shrugged, coming up to stand beside him and leaning against the sink.   
  
    Mickey arched his eyebrows as he scrubbed at his hands, wiping concealer off to reveal some knuckle tattoos that almost made Ian pass out right there. ‘You gotta have a fake name to keep geriatric creeps like Father Time out there from tryin’ to get you on the cock when you’re off the clock? What’s your actual name?’   
  
    Ian snorted before crossing his arms and shaking his head. ‘Well, the guys who I dance for usually don’t like showing restraint, so for safety and privacy, yeah. And it’s, uh, Ian Gallagher.’   
  
    Mickey seemed to think that over as he dried his hands. Tossing the paper ball into the trash, he faced Ian and stood almost toe-to-toe with him. ‘Well, Gallagher, is that just the guys you dance for, or the fuckin’ jerk-off you apparently call a boss?’   
  
    Gulping, Ian stared down at those blue eyes and tried to stop his heart from thumping out of his chest. He was failing epically and he was almost certain Mickey could hear it from the way he smirked. ‘Uh…yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Really need a promotion to main entertainment.’   
  
    Mickey nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Ya know…my sister manages The Fairy Tail now. Took it over from the fuckwits that ran it before.’   
  
    ‘The—The Fairy Tale?’ Ian stuttered. ‘That’s the most popular club in Boystown ever since she took it over! Heaps better than The White Swallow!’   
  
    ‘The White Swallow?’ Mickey screwed up his face. ‘You work for those assholes? My sister says that she’s heard of some workers getting blackmailed if they want to get a…’ Clearing his throat at Ian’s face as he flushed deeply, he continued, ‘Well that’s fuckin’ bullshit. Look, I can tell you care about your job and you sure look the part, so I could make a call into my sister. Can’t promise you main entertainment, but can promise a seat at the table with a better, more fair chance of promotion. Also, you do know The White Swallow is underpaying you, right?’   
  
    Ian shrugged, blushing bright red at his place of work. That was the only part of it that embarrassed him. ‘Better than just getting tips.’ He quickly shook his head, realising what Mickey was saying. ‘No, man, I can’t let you do that. That’s too much for some guy who you just met who brought an asshole into your workplace who abused you.’   
  
    Ian took a deep breath, looking down at Mickey as he scowled up at him in annoyance and possible embarrassment. God, who was allowed to be this attractive? He found himself shuffling closer subconsciously, drawn to him.   
  
    Mickey scoffed. ‘I can handle myself. And I’m the one offering, not your choice whether I do that or not. Now, I’m only gonna ask once: do you wanna come and meet my sister now before the club rush starts and have a chance, or do you wanna go home with that geriatric viagroid who apparently stole my friend’s mother’s money?’ As Ian looked a bit indecisive, Mickey sighed. ‘Look, to sweeten the pot, I’ll even get your platter in a doggy bag. What would you say to that?’   
  
    It was barely even a formed thought before it was an action, but Ian’s lips were on Mickey’s. It was like he blinked and suddenly he was there, kissing the hot waiter like he was air. Mickey pulled away fair too early with a light tug to Ian’s bottom lip.   
  
    ‘That’s not an answer,’ Mickey teased, inhaling sharply as their eyes met.   
  
    Ian smiled slightly. ‘I’ll take your offer…and thank you.’   
  
    ‘No worries, Gallagher. You’ll be a hit.’ With a grin, Mickey grabbed his cheeks between his tatted fingers and pulled him down to meet his own lips again.   
  
    This dinner turned out to be far better than he’d thought.


End file.
